


First Come, First Served

by tigersilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Fluff and Smut, M/M, The Fucking Auror Charity Fair, dubcon if you squint?, surprise proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/pseuds/tigersilver
Summary: In all the world, there was one thing—just the one small thing—Draco Malfoy wanted, and that was to see Harry Potter begging.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 46





	First Come, First Served

In all the world, there was one thing—just the one small thing—Draco Malfoy wanted, and that was to see Harry Potter begging.

Pleading, down on his kneecaps in the dirt, his freaky Scarface creased in dire need. Those lovely green eyes tortured with desire; that full mouth (with its thin bowed upper lip and bee-stung bottom one) tight with want. That rock-solid, supple form of his screaming for something that no one, but no one, but he—Draco Malfoy-could ever provide.

He asked Father Christmas for this every year; he made an ardent offering to the fires of the Beltane.

"Now then, Potter," Draco began, having extricated his Auror partner from the clingy hands of that sleazeball Finch-Fletchley. "Pay up."

"Excuse me?" Potter's eyes widened, the pupils taking over the green. He blinked, as if exposed to a strong light, even though it was quite shady in the narrow gap behind the Auror Auxiliary's tea tent and the tall picket privacy fencing of the Ministry's rented fairgrounds. "For what, Malfoy?"

A simple JellyLegs Charm knocked him off his feet and Draco didn't bother with saying 'sorry'. Potter's legs folded up under him just like a properly designed origami crane and he went down like a shot.

Draco snickered.

"Hey!" Potter exclaimed, flailing and flushing with quick anger. "Finite! What the fuck, Malfoy?"

"First come, Harry," Draco snarled, quick grin wiped away in a bleak instant. Potter wasn't even approaching the pleading stage yet and he wanted that part of his fantasy rather badly. Wouldn't rest till he got it, either. He unbuttoned his trouser flies and shifted his robes just enough for ease of access. "Time for a reckoning. Jellylegs!" Salazar, but he was already standing up!

"You. Have. Got to be pulling my leg!" Potter was staring up at him, jaw dropped as comprehension dawned, his knees going off in opposite directions even as he goggled.

"Something else, perhaps—if you're a very good little boy, Potter." Draco enjoyed his view of Potter struggling with his uncooperative limbs. This was brilliant! Just as he knew it would be, Draco exulted inwardly.

"Malfoy?"

Draco actually smiled full-out; this image of Potter before him was shaping up nicely to match his mental portrait of his lingering fantasy. It would soon be exactly the same as the beguiling vision he'd carried about in his head for ever so long—what, Sixth Year, was it, that it started? Maybe earlier, but now it simply required that he stir a dollop of pure liquid lust into the mix; ramp Potter up to proper cruising speed, as it were. Right?

He promptly undid his belt, loosened his trousers, took out his cock and palmed it once or twice slowly in front of Potter's mesmerized, wide-open orbs, though it was more than ready, his dick, and didn't need much in the way of encouragement.

"I just wanted to treat you to tea, Malfoy!" Harry startled backwards abruptly and went on with jabbering away like a ninny, wriggling about on his wobbly shanks, gaze firmly staring down at the scraggly grass tufts instead of at Draco's clearly available bits. "That's all I wanted to—and then you—I mean, you're mad. Bloody _barking_!"

"Not so much, Potter," Draco bit out tersely, brows furling together, though he wasn't all that impatient, really. Rather wanted to savour this 'begging' thing, but…first, clearly, Potter had to be coerced to cooperate. He stepped forward and Potter's gaze finally snapped up to confront Draco's prick, which was red and dampish at the head. And right on proper level with Potter's flapping lips, fortunately.

"You owe me, don't you?" Draco reminded him, the acid of his tone emphasizing the thin, nasty curl of his upper lip. Not that he thought he was coming across as much more pleasant than when he'd started this small battle for dominance, but Potter—jiggling back to rest on his toes and shifting his weight-somehow subtly seemed a bit less likely to surge up from the dusty fair grounds, break Draco's Charm and maybe also his arm, and subsequently throttle him. "I've gone and bought two hundred Galleon's worth of tickets, Potter," Draco stated. "Double the amount available for your stall. No—triple! You fucking owe me for that and don't you dare gainsay it now!"

"Now? That?"

Draco's--quite reasonable, he thought--demand resulted in outright jaw-dropped amazement; Potter quite forgot to fight off the lingering effects of the JellyLegs what with all his dramatic over-reaction. He fell over again, losing his balance, clumsy git.

"Malfoy! Be serious! You can't possibly mean me to-to--now--er, can you?"

"Oh, so _can_. Will, even."

Grey eyes glinting as they narrowed and judged the space available between Potter's bobbing teeth to a nicety. Draco crouched down a bit, bent his own knees and shoved his hips forward just so, halting Potter's pointless babble in mid-huff. Harry's mouth was forced fully open and he stilled like a deer in the headlamps, gagging.

"Unmph!" he gurgled-bleated, and twisted his tongue 'round frantically against his cheeks so it wouldn't block his windpipe. "Nrrrrgh!"

"Now, Potter," Draco drawled, and the lingering red-eyed glare stuck on his face fled altogether as he closed his heavy lids ever so briefly and sighed. "There, there." Harry's mouth was a sensual steam bath, his wriggling tongue an instrument of the gods, wrought for pure pleasure by that Olympian Aphrodite. "Suck it for me, won't you?" Draco purred happily, barely leashing in his raging desire to simply ram his dick down Harry's well-trained throat. "I've paid all my Galleons to Granger well in advance."

"Ummm!" Potter hadn't closed his own eyes once, not even when he was first assaulted; not even when he swallowed, but his lashes fluttered now. He glared his irritation through them, but he didn't pull back as Draco feared he might. A long-suffering huff came hissing through his flared nostrils instead, and Harry's eyes narrowed to mere slits even as his lips and the muscular organ behind them slid into practiced action.

"Ah!" Draco sighed, as his lover put his will to it. "Now you've got the picture, Potter! Keep at it," he ordered. "I want it wet as you can make it, git."

"Mmmphlll!" Potter grunted. "Ngh-errmm!"

Draco, ignoring the continuing faint ire on Potter's part, merely rocked happily on his heels for a long moment or three, sinfully pleased but still only partially satisfied by the service he was receiving. There was just one more—one very important—component missing from this scene of debauchery. Frowning at the necessity of his actions, he grabbed Potter's head and laced his hands into the luxuriant hair that covered it. Admiring the pale ivory of his own skin against the midnight hue of Potter's mane for just another slurping, swallowing, purely brilliant moment, he allowed Potter to fall into an easy rhythm. Back and forth sawed that sooty mass, up and down flexed the bronzed throat, and Potter—apparently finally buying into the inevitable—brought his grubby hands up to grope at Draco's exposed thighs.

Draco chuckled. Evilly.

The git was no doubt under the impression Draco would be bought off with a quick blowjob behind the Canteen—but that wasn't by any means all Draco had paid for, and it wasn't what he'd always wanted, either.

He wanted his juvenile fantasy. He wanted it now.

"Deeper, Potter!" he commanded. "I'm going to shag you with it—you don't want it dry, do you?"

"Mmmm," Potter was murmuring, having moved from 'resigned' to actively enjoying the moment. "Mmmph, mmm," he moaned, and the sound of his nasal whine was a lovely musical underpinning to the slick squishy noises of hot saliva smoothing over hardened flesh, and Draco's own intermittent low groans. That fucking hum of Potter's was killer, Draco decided. But this—whilst very pleasant-had gone on quite long enough, he realized, mustering up the last little bits of grey matter left coherent in his brain box, and he still hadn't gotten what he'd paid for.

Fantasy. Potter begging. Hands and knees; helpless with desire. Now.

Draco pulled his pelvis back abruptly, the jutting rod of his incredibly erect dick emerging with a discreet little 'plop!' from Potter's rounded lips quite unexpectedly—at least for Potter. Potter lunged forward the second Draco's cock got away from him, and Draco had to grasp his reddened ears hard to keep him from catching it up again with that wicked-good tongue of his.

Draco's cock dangled and bobbed stiffly, wet and scarlet as the fete's festive bunting, and with the bottom vein visibly throbbing, right on same plane as Potter's frustrated, angry glare—but just far enough out of reach that it would be quite, quite painful for Potter's ears to try that lunge again.

"That's enough, Potter," Draco managed. "Hold up." He managed even a deceptive sort of calm composed as he said this, despite the blood rushing through his own ears, stopping by only very briefly on its way to his aching groin. He took a deep Zen-like breath, fighting his own insidious urge to allow Potter his way with the sucking. "Enough of your shabby excuse for a decent blow, alright?" he needled, and firmed his grip on Potter's hair, his pinkies slipping down Potter's soft nape to slowly caress it. "Time to pay me the rest of your debt now, sweet, sweet Charity."

"Charity? You call this charity?" Potter was again irate—and aghast. Just the way Draco liked to have him—sometimes. Now, for example.

They ceased any motion at all for a half-a sec, glaring daggers, the two of them, both breathing in sharp pants, and then Potter scowled blackly. "What the bleeding fuck, Draco? This isn't charity!" he roared, rearing up on his abused knees, and this time it was Draco who got an eyeful of Potter's bulging trousers under his parted robes. He swallowed in heady anticipation.

Oh, excellent! Draco grinned. Potter was liking this, secretly. Now Potter's legendary control would start the inevitable slide into oblivion. The much-needed begging phase would begin any moment now.

"You know what I mean, Harry," Draco smirked, a hip roll waving his dick like a red flag under Potter's huffing nostrils. He knew precisely the way fresh hot cock smelt; he was likely driving Potter barmy with it. "You know exactly." He waited patiently, wagging his package just a bit, till the fecking idiot git twigged on.

"Oh, for Merlin's Sake!" It only took Potter two slow blinks to connect Draco's very large dots. He bobbed his head almost immediately in tacit agreement, completely disregarding the tugging on his earlobes, and Draco smiled even more widely. Trust good old Golden Boy to latch on to the obvious with a little prodding. "You arsehole!" Potter protested ardently, though his hands were already at his robe clasps. "You conniving little arsehole! This is the Fete, Draco! Can't you pick a better time to do this? Maybe when we won't risk being discovered any second?"

"Uh-uh," Draco shook his head. "Not at all, Harry. It's your obligation to fulfill, not mine. Remember, 'first come—"

"First fucking served!" Harry completed Draco's mantra-of-the-day rebelliously. "And I suppose you want this to be willing, too, don't you, you petty little freak?"

"Mmm-hmm," Draco grinned. "But you're welcome to fight me a bit—adds to the thrill. Now, hands and knees, Harry, if you please. And shuffle around, do. Now."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Harry bitched, ripping his Auror robe all the way off and flinging it carelessly away. His belt and flies were next, and all of that was then dragged down his flanks, along with his boxers, in less than no time and kicked off his flailing feet. "Fucking Finite Incantatem, damn it!" Potter yelped. The next instant he'd swung his lean body 'round and planted his hands flat on the packed down dirt, walking them round till his naked arse faced Draco's straining tackle. "Give me a second to get ready, you bloody menace," Potter grumbled. "Buggering insane idiot!"

Draco licked his lips. This was worth rather a lot to him—but still. Not quite his fantasy; not yet. Needed some adjustment.

"Well?" Potter demanded, when Draco made no move to stick his dick in. "What's holding you up there, sport?" he jibed snidely. "Performance issues?"

"Attitude," Draco riposted. "Poor, if not execrably offensive, attitude, Auror Potter. You'd fail as a whore, you know. Customer's always the one to be made satisfied in a transaction and I've already paid for the goods received. Want some enthusiasm, please—step up your game."

"Good thing I'm not, then," Harry shot back over his shoulder. He must've seen something in Draco's features that set him back, though, because his next words weren't anywhere near as acerbic. "A whore, that is," when Draco just blinked at him, clearly not following. "Fine, fine—look, I'm sorry, Draco!" he admitted. "It's just I actually wanted to talk to you over tea, and now there's this, and I—"

"And I have no less than seven broken brooms piled up at my stall," Draco interrupted, "which is more work than can be done before the Fair closes, and you, Harry Potter, are signed up to be snogging the fuck out of every man Jack and Witch Jill right under my nose the entire time I'm attempting to concentrate on fixing them!" Draco was viciously irate, and it was evident in his tone. And he was fecking jealous as Hades, and feeling gypped and tricked and ill-used, as well, though not all that was Potter's fault. "That annoys me, Harry. That irks me no end! I bought every fucking ticket Granger had in stock to sell for your favours, plus an extra hundred Galleons just to be sure of it, and now Looney's gone and screwed with my system! Someone's going to pay, Potter, and it's bloody well going to be you!"

Harry dropped his head, and stared at the ground. His knees were likely twinging, and his arse was bared to the world—if the world bothered to notice-and Draco knew both those things and concluded his partner also had to be feeling somewhat uneasy. Difficult to lose oneself to mindless passion when one was anxious. This would, Draco feared, interfere with the fulfillment of his private fantasy. He stepped forward manfully, so that the tip of prick butted against Harry's hole. It quivered. Draco gripped his cock at the base and directed it, so that the smooth, slippery fatness of it stroked Harry right where it mattered the most. He leaned in another fraction of a millimetre, just breaching Harry's hole, pushing it wide and rounded, and Harry raised his head instantly, spine straightening, as if electrified.

"Grrrrnngh!" Potter exclaimed, or something to that effect. He jostled his bum.

"Is that a problem, Potter?" Draco drawled nasally, ably keeping the tip of his cock right where he'd placed it, despite Harry's squirming. "Giving me my money's worth?"

"No!" Harry huffed. Draco pushed just another scant inch—a red cunt hair, actually—and allowed his hips to rock infinitesimally. His dickhead picked up the motion and amplified it, throbbing in time like a fucking grenade buzzing, ready to explode. They both ceased instantly remembering to actually breathe, he and Harry—or so it felt. Draco grabbed at Potter's prick in the abrupt silence, which item was hard enough to use as a bleeding bludgeon, and stroked it. A fingernail slipped teasing over the damp gap of the slit; knuckles gripped and released the shaft.

Potter groaned, all of him rigid as a plank.

"Like that?" Draco breathed. "Want more, do you?"

Potter gurgled and wriggled back on his knees, his arsehole instinctively seeking more cock to fill it. Draco jerked his hips just as quickly, though it nearly killed him outright to do so.

"Nah-uh!" he trilled, feeling the first triumphant curl of excitement wending its happy way through his gut. "Beg, Potter! I want you to beg!" he crowed. And ruined that fleeting moment of victory, by following it up with a fervent "Please!"

"More!" Potter obliged harshly, driving his spine back. He spread his knees wider, and hunched his goose-pimpled shoulders, tipping his head so it lolled. "More, Malfoy! Give it to me!"

"Why should I, Potter?" Draco wanted to know, feinting back a cruel inch or so. Potter's hips followed, but the ground was uneven. It was only the grip Draco had on his dick keeping him upright. "You need to give me a good reason," he smirked, "before you go off and snog all those dirty bastards, Potter. I'm not happy about that, you realize. Not one little iota."

"Shag me 'cause I'm begging you now, Draco," Potter shot back over his left shoulder. "Shag me 'cause I'll fucking die of frustration if you don't! Shag me because someone's going to walk around the corner of the tent any second now to sneak a whizz!"

"…No, Potter," Draco shook his head, profoundly disappointed. He didn't want 'angry Potter', or even 'very frustrated Potter', he wanted 'begging, mindless Potter' and he wasn't seeing that, not at all. "Don't think so. S'not enough."

"Oh my gods, Draco!" Potter burst out, shaking his head. "Fucking please, then! Please! Get on with it, prat, before I bloody well hemorrhage here!"

"This," Draco observed, detaching his mind with some difficulty from the image of Potter's arching spine and the rounded, firm globes of his flexing arse—his red face and curling fingers, tearing at the grass, "is no different from usual. I wanted something special, Harry, to make up for my pain. This is drearily the same, all over again."

"You spoilt prick!" Harry bellowed, and Draco could've sworn the quiet bustle in the Auxiliary's Tea Tent went deathly silent for a half-second. He ignored that, hoping Potter wouldn't notice. "You are bloody impossible, you know that? I'm not snogging those people—they just think I am! Luna's got this great little Charm her father taught her—like a Confundus, but even better—nothing Dark about it!"

"Er—what, Potter?" Draco furrowed his brows, and let his slow hand come to rest on Potter's flagging cock. "What're you going on about now?"

"It's a ruse, damn it! A Charm! They lean forward, I lean forward and—if they've got a purple ticket, that is—the stall's awning is Charmed to make them believe I've just snogged them silly! Now are you happy, you stupid jealous bastard? Because we're so due any second to be discov—Urrrrd!"

His word ended in a howl. Draco, never slow on the uptake, slung his hips into rapid action and tightened his grip on Harry's cock.

"Oh-my-fucking-GODS!" Harry whispered jerkily, sagging, and Draco would've said the same, if he'd any breath at all. But all his physical efforts were channeled into pummeling Potter into drooling submission, and he was busy.

"Yeah," he managed. "That's right, Potter—Harry! That's my cock in you—d'you want it?"

"Ye-esss!" Harry hissed like a steam kettle, his plea jagged and broken up into tiny, panting gasps. "Yes, Draco! Shag me! Shag me harder!"

"Fucking yes, Harry!" Draco replied, and saw—at last—exactly what he'd always wanted, written clear enough across the Saviour's scarred face. Lust—and glassy-eyed passion—and need. Pure, unadulterated need, which was fucking manna from heaven and everything Draco had ever really desired from the likes of Harry Potter.

"Take it, damn you!" he ordered. "Take it all, Potter!"

"Please, please, please," Potter gabbled wantonly, rocking like a deviant on his hands-and-knees in the dust, so that little clouds of brownish haze rose up like miniature whirlwinds. "Please, please, please—"

Draco's palm slipped forward and back in a rapid rhythm over and around Harry's dick; his pelvis punched forward deeper, ever deeper, budging at the nub of mind-blowing sensation within, and Harry whimpered and dropped his black bounteous mop of hair flat to the ground, swallowing grit and not even noticing. "Oh, gods! Oh, Merlin, Draco! Oh—oh-ahhh!"

He—the great Scarface twit—was reduced to a boneless heap, all to pieces, his urgent spurts of come trickling through Draco's frantic fingers, his arse still thrust high in the air, hanging precariously off the hammer drill of Draco's never-ending thrusts. Draco gulped, choked, tried to cry out—this was perfect! This was it!—and shot his load into Potter with enough force to nearly black out, right there behind the Auxiliary's Canteen.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!" he mouthed, with no breath in him at all available to fuel the words, and tottered forward and down, smashing the Pride of the Aurors flat beneath him, into the patchy grass. And did indeed lose consciousness, if only for a few seconds.

"Ommph!" Harry grunted at the impact, but he didn't move otherwise. "Gahhh! P-Prat!" Draco, sprawled inelegantly, was still lodged inside him, deep and true, pulsing that last final dribble of bitter-end semen, his neurons flashing intermittently in a 'happy dance' of utter satiation.

"Mmmmm, Harry," Draco murmured, his fantasy now a wonderfully real memory. ''ove you, 'arry."

"Ngh," he heard in response, through ears that bloody buzzed yet. He was so all-over floppy, and feeling a great and joyous peace with the world—and Potter was—gods! Harry was effing awesome! His tight, hot arse and that prick, so thick, and his hair, tickling. Smelt wonderful! Tasted great—like ambrosia. Just couldn't ever, ever be bettered—not by anyone, Draco was sure.

"Unnngh," he moaned cheerfully, after another moment. "Fucking thirsty. You, Harry?"

Harry gurgled, and shifted his body a bit under Draco's, obviously too strung out to speak. Or mayhap he literally couldn't, since Draco was squashing him.

"Er—sorry!" Draco scrambled sideways and upwards, gaining his feet, heedless of the dust accruing to his uniform and his sweaty scalp. "Here, get up, Harry. No need to lie around like that. Someone might come any moment—"

"Bloody prat!"

"Shut it, Harry!" Draco replied, testy again. He whisked a Cleaning spell all over his companion, and set about straightening himself up. "No use complaining now—already over and done with, even the shouting. Buck the fuck up, will you? Get a grip!"

"You have to have the world's worst timing, Draco," Harry fretted, "er—thanks," he added, when Draco handed him his pants. "Of anyone, ever!" Harry slid back into his rant easily. "We've got a home, you know, with a bedroom, that has a bed—where it's private, remember? And I'll damn well do whatever you want me to—there! And you know that! So, why in Merlin's Name you have to molest me at the Fucking Auror Charity Fete, Draco, you bleeding pinhead moron, I'll never understand!"

"Well…that's the problem, Harry," Draco jumped in, reasonably, but ready to stand his ground. "You don't understand. If you did, I wouldn't be bothered nearly as much."

"Understand what, git?" Harry demanded, having hopped into his boots and caught up with his errant Auror's cloak. "That you're a bloody lunatic?"

"That I'm jealous, Harry!" Draco burst out—and then clapped his hand over his mouth. He instantly swung away, to stare at the striped tenting and blink rapidly. Hadn't really meant to say that, exactly—though it should be obvious, even to a speccy berk like Four-Eyes, here.

"Wait—what? Really?" Harry put a hand on Draco's tight back and patted, gingerly. "You don't have to be, Draco. You know that, right?"

"No—no, I don't," Draco informed the Canteen tent. His lower lip wibbled just a bit, so he chomped down on it. Thank Salazar Potter couldn't see that! "You were the one who blithely signed up to snog everyone for a Galleon each, Harry. For charity, of course, so what the Hades could I ever say against it without coming off like a total arsewipe? How was I to know Luna had some stupid old Charm to fool them? You never mentioned that to me, arsehole!"

"Um," Harry replied. "I'm sorry."

"You should be, Harry!"

"No—truly I am, Draco. I-I didn't mean to upset you—"

"Suuure, Harry," Draco snarled at the stupid tent stripes. "You like watching me suffer, admit it. You think I deserve it, don't you?"

"No! No, I do not, you great git!" Harry yelped. The hand—which had been patting harder and harder as they'd exchanged words, stopped whacking him altogether and clamped down on Draco's shoulder instead. He was spun around without ceremony and nearly stumbled right into Potter's chest. Potter—stupid, uncaring Potter—was glaring at him as if he were mental, and almost visibly huffing in exasperation. "I don't understand! I thought you trusted me, Draco! Since when do you not?" he shouted—quietly, yes, but still shouted-nostrils flaring.

Draco blinked, a large part of his mental faculty taken up with Potter's lovely, lovely anger. He'd always enjoyed that, almost from the crucial moment on the Hogwart's Express. Angry Potter equaled excited Potter, which then naturally meant a Potter who was focused on what was most important—Draco Malfoy.

"Do you blame me?" Draco asked, eyebrows going up.

"Oh, my fucking gods!" Harry exclaimed. "Here!" He thrust a packet into Draco's lax hand and dropped abruptly to his knees. "Ow, damn it!" he added. "That smarts! Stupid idiot Malfoy!"

"Er?" Draco looked down at the packet blankly. He glanced back up—no, down—at Harry, and frowned his confusion. "Um, Harry, what're you doing down there?"

"I'm begging, Malfoy—just like you wanted!" Harry shrieked discreetly, through very thin lips. "Now, open it, you wanker, and put it the fuck on your finger, say godsdamned 'yes' to me without arguing for once in your difficult life, and then—and then, finally!-we can go scare up some proper tea!"

Harry was apparently overcome by the effects of serious dehydration, or perhaps he was just experiencing some sort of odd spell. Draco shook his pale head over it, wondering vaguely if he should Summon some water as Potter buried his black mop in his palms and shook it, moaning piteously and wordlessly. Draco obediently got to the ordered unwrapping, figuring that was best. Tea sounded very nice, now.

"What is this, Harry?" he asked, puzzled, unwinding the deep green ribbon. He tucked that in his pocket for saving and shook the little box curiously, to see if it would rattle. "Something from Weasley's?"

"No!"

"From that other shop, then? The one we both like? It's very small, if it is. Did you Shrink it?"

"Get on with it, Malfoy!"

The silvery foil wrapping fell off, fluttering unheeded to the ground. Draco's jaw went with it, sailing off to LaLa Land. He opened the telltale velvet-covered box with fingers that were suddenly very slippery and quite numb, and then he stared for a while longer, entirely bollixed.

"Erm….like it?" Potter was staring up at him again, his green eyes aglow with childish glee. "Hermione and Luna helped me pick it out. It's platinum, and that's a ruby, of course, and the jeweler Charmed it, so I know where you are whenever I want you, and there's a Protection Charm, too, and proper sizing built in and -Draco?"

Draco wasn't Jellylegged, but he might as well have been. With a thump, he slid into a heap next to Harry, never once taking his eyes from The Ring.

"I…I." he managed. Barely.

"Put it on, Draco," Harry urged him, and leant forward, so that their foreheads met and rested gently against one another, his outstretched fingertips caressing the simple circlet of precious, precious metal. The ruby gleamed as the box trembled, dazzling Draco's damp eyes. "I'll, er—I'll help you, alright?"

Draco nodded—must've, because Harry was doing it; sliding the ring out the box in slow motion, and then catching up his limp wrist and finding the proper finger. The ring warmed as it went on, slipping past Draco's knuckles easily—and then tightened, inexorably, so that he knew, without a doubt, it'd never come off.

"Yes."

He couldn't quite catch his breath properly. The summer breeze had picked up, but there'd been no actual sound emerging from his parted lips in the first place, to steal away. Draco blinked, and found his fantasy world had blossomed into full and vibrant reality.

"Yes," he said calmly, louder this time, and Harry smiled. That smile—that pleased little twist of a superior smirk, the prick-it was better than any expression, even drooling, lust-bound submission, that Draco had ever had the good fortune to witness existing on Scarhead's face. "Potter."

"Yes…Harry."

"Good, because I'm totally parched now, and we're going to be awfully late getting back to our stalls as it is."


End file.
